


whoa now (think i'm going down)

by ShippingEverything



Category: Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Diners, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Filipino Otto, Fluff, M/M, Self-indulgent fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, everyone is a person of color except for melchior, frau robel/fanny gabor Lives, honestly my teeth feel out while i was writing this, in this fic melchior is unfortunately not a bad guy, its not super clear in the fic and it honestly doesnt change anything but i wanted yall to Know, once again a tweet fic thats become a Real Fic, some happy melchiotto for all your happy melchiotto needs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-21 00:30:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9522977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShippingEverything/pseuds/ShippingEverything
Summary: Melchior may not know how to rollerskate but he sure knows how to pine.Or: the rollerskating diner au that no one asked for but I wrote anyway





	

**Author's Note:**

> title from Fergie's Clumsy
> 
> someone on tumblr said that they liked my fics??? especially the melchiotto??? i was shocked (i still am shocked) but here's to you, anon. inspired by [this](https://twitter.com/sa_confess/status/747257518221574144)
> 
> i promised smut on tumblr and , i promise, thats coming its just that im Terrible at writing pwp and its sort of become a multichap??? and i dont have time to finish a multichap right now???????? sorry??????????????
> 
> lowkey dedicated to erin and icarus over on twitter!!! hope y'all enjoy!

“Melchior, honey, can you come down for a minute?”

Melchior, who had been on the phone with Moritz, stops mid-sentence at his stepmother’s voice.

“I gotta go,” He says to Moritz, before moving the phone away and yelling back, “Coming!”

When he stomps his way down the stairs and into the living room, he’s faced with his mothers sitting on the couch together and smiling just a _bit_ too nicely. Melchior pushes down the sudden urge to _run_.

“Mom, mama?”

His stepmother, Magdalena Robel, points at the chair across from them. Melchior warily sits down.

“Melchior,” His mother, Fanny Gabor, starts, “We’re concerned.”

“Concerned,” He repeats flatly, raising an eyebrow.

Fanny and Magdalena share a look. Magdalena takes a breath. “Concerned is a… _strong_ word, but we’re a bit worried about your summer plans.”

“What summer plans?” Melchior asks, because the only summer plans he’d had were sleeping a ton, hanging out with Moritz, and maybe going over to the Rilow’s to use their pool every now and then.

“Exactly, dear,” Fanny says, “We just think your time could be better used. Ernst is going to help out at that summer camp-”

Melchior rolls his eyes. “I applied there, mom, you know that.”

“We also know that you didn’t do your best on that application,” Fanny says.

When Melchior looks at them, betrayed, Magdalena adds, “Ernst sold you out.”

 _Goddamn it Ernst_ , Melchior thinks, then he says, “So what do you want me to do?”

Magdalena and Fanny exchange another look, this one longer and with several dramatic eyebrow movements.

“Well,” Fanny says, “We could always use more help in the diner.”

* * *

‘The diner’ is called _The Place_ , and it’s a 60’s-esque diner that Magdalena inherited when her husband died. It was a wreck by the time he died so she had sold it to Fanny as soon as possible for a ridiculously low price, but Fanny had fixed it and opened it up, turning it into a successful rollerskating diner against all odds. Magdalena tells Ernst and Melchior (and, honestly, anyone she can get to listen) that Fanny’s determination and business savvy are what wooed her; Fanny tells everyone that Magdalena’s faith in Fanny and genuine happiness and excitement about the diner are what made her fall in love; regardless, the diner has played a pretty big role in Melchior’s life for as long as he can remember--playing with his cars in one of the booths, doing his homework in the kitchen, helping his mothers wash dishes and clean tables after hours--so being asked to help isn’t _too_ out there. What is out there is them asking him to _wait tables_.

“You’ve _seen_ me on skates, right?” Melchior had asked when his mothers had revealed their plan.

Fanny had sighed and Magdalena had clicked her tongue and said, “That was years ago. You’re much less clumsy now, I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

Now, morning of his first day, Melchior isn’t so sure. He’s never been good with spinning wheels under his feet and he doesn’t think a couple of years will have fixed it.

“Come on, Gabor, we don’t have all day,” Hanschen, Fanny’s favorite employee who’s been forced into this ‘new employee training’, snaps, gliding over and stopping sharply right in front of Melchior.

Melchior, though he would never say it, is impressed. Still, “I’m not going to be able to do this.”

Hanschen rolls his eyes. “Okay.”

“No seriously.”

“ _Sure_.”

Melchior opens his mouth and closes it again. He shakes his head. He leans down and laces up his rollerskates.

“Now stand up,” Hanschen orders. Melchior complies.

Or, he _tries_ to comply, but his legs go in two different directions and he ends up falling back into the booth, a hand clutched to the tabletop.

“I can’t do this,” He says.

Hanschen sighs as though Melchior is being ridiculous and needlessly difficult. He leans one of his skates forward to plant it on the stopper and reaches a hand out. “Take my hand. I’ll help you up, if I must. It takes a while to get used to standing up with the skates on.”

Melchior squints up at Hanschen. “Are you going to drop me?”

“I’m not going to drop you.”  
“But what if you do?”

“I won’t.”

“But-”

“Melchior Gabor, I swear to god,” Hanschen snaps, “Take my hand and stand the fuck up, you _are_ going to skate.”

Melchior takes Hanschen’s hand. Hanschen pulls him up and Melchior flails for a second, grabbing onto Hanschen’s biceps to steady himself, before getting his balance. Hanschen, who looks disgusted at being clutched at by Melchior, sighs.

“Let go.”

“I can’t,” Melchior says, his hands tightening. Hanschen yelps, probably because Melchior’s nails are obnoxiously long, but he doesn’t let go. “I’ll work here, in the kitchen or something, but I _can’t_ use these, these _deathskates_.”

“Deathskates,” Hanschen snorts and rolls his eyes, “Whatever, I’ll tell Mrs. Gabor. Sit down and get those things off.”

Melchior lets go of Hanschen, collapsing back into the booth and untying the rollerskates as fast as humanly possible. It would take a _lot_ to get him to put those on again.

* * *

“Oh my god, who is that?” Melchior asks as the _prettiest boy ever_ walks into the diner. He’s working behind the counter, where he’s been banished--since it’s the only serving job that doesn’t require rollerskates, although Melchior doesn’t know why his mother can’t just let him wait tables and _not_ wear the skates--but it’s slow and he’d been texting Moritz and playing hangman with Hanschen between customers. Now, though, he nearly leans _over_ the counter so that he can get a better view of the cute boy.

Hanschen turns around and looks at the door, furrowing his brows. “Ernst? Your stepbrother? What are you-”

“No! Jesus, I know Ernst, _obviously_ ,” Melchior shoves Hanschen as well as he can with the counter between them. It really does anything, but it’s the _principle_ of the action. “The boy with Ernst. Who’s he?”

“Oh, you mean Otto Lammermeier,” Hanschen says, rolling his eyes, “He’s working at the camp with Ernst.”

For a moment, Melchior regrets not helping out. The boy is attractive, with smooth olive skin and almond-shaped eyes, and Melchior can’t stop staring. He sighs dreamily, “ _Otto_.”

“Oh, jesus christ. I’m not doing this, I have work to do,” Hanschen groans under his breath as he skates away to deal with his tables. Melchior lets him go, too busy watching as Ernst and Otto try to choose a table.

“Ernst! Ernst, over here!” Melchior whisper-shouts, waving his arms are inconspicuously as possible. Ernst smiles at him and starts over towards the counter, saying something to Otto and gesturing to Melchior. Otto nods and glances over, meeting eyes with Melchior.

Melchior takes a sharp breath, looking into Otto’s dark eyes. Melchior, still mostly shocked and flustered by the eye contact, raises a hand to wave. Otto smiles softly and waves back.

 _Oh my god, that was adorable_ , Melchior thinks, and he’s is too busy trying to make sure he looks as attractive he can in a pale pink dress shirt and a powder blue apron to notice Hanschen skating over to Ernst until it’s too late. Hanschen doesn’t do anything but smile and gently gesture to his section and Ernst is honest to god _tripping_ over himself to go sit in the booths.

 _He_ seduced _him away, what a dick_ , Melchior thinks. Hanschen turns around and smirks at him before skating away, backwards like the show off that he is. Melchior flips him off.

When Hanschen skates by Melchior to put the order in, he says, “Wow, Otto is such a nice boy. What a shame that you’re stuck here, behind the counter, unable to talk to him. If only you could rollerskate...”

“You’re an asshole,” Melchior says, scowling.

Hanschen laughs as he picks up the drink tray, nearly spinning his way back to Ernst and Otto. Melchior sighs. Hanschen _is_ an asshole, undoubtedly, but he _does_ have a point; if Melchior could rollerskate, this would all be solved.

Melchior nods to himself and pulls out his phone. He has a few texts to send.

* * *

It’s ten o’clock at night and Melchior is in a skatepark.

“It was really nice of you to agree to do this, Thea,” Moritz says.

Thea glares at Melchior and sneers; despite the fact that they’re only related through adoption, Melchior would swear that he can see a family resemblance between her and Hanschen in that moment. “I’m not doing this out of the kindness of my heart, Stiefel, Gabor’s going to owe me.”

“ _What_?” Melchior says, pausing in pulling his skates on, “What am I going to owe you? And _why_?”

“Ilse is out for your _blood_ , you asshole,” Thea says, “If she knew that I was doing this, she’d kill me.”

Moritz turns to look at Melchior with wide eyes, upset eyes. “What did you do to Ilse?”

“Nothing!” Melchior says, defensively. He’s still on the ground even though his skates are laced, so it’s easy for Moritz and Thea to stare him down.

“Are you sure?” Moritz asks.

Melchior makes a show out of rolling his eyes at the question, but then he thinks for a moment. _Oh_. “Okay, nothing to _her_.”

“ _Melchi_ ,” Moritz sighs, exasperated. Melchior shrugs helplessly.

“Whatever! It happened like a month ago, and if Ilse is just now hearing about it than that’s her fault,” Melchior says resolutely, rubbing his nose and remembering the beating Wendla had given him at the time. “Wendla already served out punishment, Ilse needs to chill.”

“You’ve met Ilse, right?” Thea says with a mocking laugh, sharp and cruel, “Since when has Ilse _ever_ been _chill_?”

Moritz runs a hand through his hair, only succeeding in covering his hand with gel and messing up his artfully messy look. He wipes his hand on his jeans. “I’ll talk to Ilse. You’ll still teach him, right?”

Thea rolls her eyes and shrugs. “Yeah, might as well. A favor from Gabor could be useful.”

“Thank yo-”

“But he better be a quick learner, because I’m not devoting more than two hours a night to him and he only has, what, a week to learn?”

Melchior sighs dejectedly. “Yeah, a week. Ernst said that he’d bring Otto back around next weekend, so.”

Thea looks at Melchior, sitting nervously on the asphalt. She huffs and puts out her hand. “Come on. I won’t be able to make you into a roller derby star or anything, but you should be able to serve tables.”

Melchior steels himself and takes her hand.

* * *

Melchior shakily skates through the diner, mostly handing out menus and occasionally carrying single cups back up to the counter for refills. Sometimes Hanschen will skate _literal circles around him_ when he’s moving around the diner, which the patrons apparently find adorable and hilarious in equal measure, but even Hanschen’s teasing is tempered with some kindness and admiration in Melchior’s quick adjustment.

“Are you even sure that he’s going to come in today, loverboy?” Hanschen asks. He’s (correctly) assumed that the reason that Melchior’s made today his first day is because he’s expecting Otto.

“Ernst said they would.”

“But what is Otto wants to go somewhere else?”

“He wouldn’t,” Melchior starts, then, he stops. It’s completely logical, they came here last week under Ernst’s instruction, Otto could want to go somewhere different now. “I have to check my phone.”

Hanschen’s laughter follows him to the kitchen as he pulls out his phone. **where r u??????** He texts Ernst. Ernst responds after a second, **_I was just about to text you, we’re outside_**.

Melchior does not scream or jump for joy, but that’s mostly only because he’s working and in rollerskates. He does however skate back out, smoothing down his uniform and trying to act casual.

Ernst comes in, chattering to someone behind him and _oh god, he’s brought more people_. Ernst leads his friends, Otto among them, to a booth. Otto and Ernst end up sitting on the two ends. Melchior takes a deep breath, _C’mon, you can do this, you can face Ernst, a few of his friends, and a cute boy. You can rollerskate_. He grabs some menus and skates over wobbily, managing to stop without running into the table. He hands the menus out and gives his most charming smile.

“Hi, I’m Melchior and I’ll be your server today,” He says. Ernst gapes.

“You’re serving?” He asks, “I thought you worked the counter, isn’t Hanschen working today?”

Melchior scowls, “Yes but-”

“I’m playing babysitter today,” Hanschen says, skating by smoothly with a tray of food in one hand. He pauses to squeeze Melchior’s cheek. “Baby’s first day serving and all that.”

Ernst and friends laugh, but Melchior is too busy scowling at Hanschen to really notice.

“ _Anyway_ , I’ll just leave you with the menus, I’ll be out to get your drink orders in a bit,” Melchior says, louder than strictly necessary after Hanschen leaves. He smiles again, looking over the table and catching Otto’s eye. Otto is just as attractive as Melchior remembers, maybe even moreso, and he’s smiling back dazzlingly. Melchior is sure that his heart skips a beat when they lock eyes. “Um, yeah. Bye.”

He skates back to the kitchen as quickly as possible and scrubs a hand down his face. Okay, so he’s mildly embarrassed himself. Whatever. This is fine. _Nice try, not that convincing though_ , He thinks to himself, groaning quietly. He pulls out his phone. **who r those ppl w u** , he texts Ernst. It takes a second but Ernst replies  _ **Anna, Georg, Martha. They heard that we were going out and wanted to come and Otto said they could**_ , and  ** _Sorry!!!_** , and finally, **I _didn’t know you’d be serving us??? I thought you were just going to just flirt with Otto from the counter_** _._ Melchior runs a hand over his face. He takes a deep breath. He skates back out. Just as he’s reached the table, before he can even speak, he turns his left foot the wrong way and falls.

 _Oh, christ, this is how I die_ , He thinks. He twists his body midair so that he can fall on his ass instead of flat on his face. He squeezes his eyes shut. However, instead of hitting the ground, he feels himself land on something much softer, with an arm around his back. He opens his eyes and flushes immediately.

“Hi,” He says, staring into Otto’s eyes and having fallen into Otto’s lap.

“Hi?” Otto half-replies, half-asks, bewildered.

It definitely takes Melchior a second too long to get up, but the feel of Otto’s strong arm holding him up was just _amazing_.

“Uh,” He starts when he stands, stuttering and embarrassed, avoiding Otto’s eyes. “So, what do you all want to drink?”

* * *

Melchior stuffs a hand into his mouth to muffle the screaming that he wants to do. He takes a deep breath. He starts retrieving the drinks.

“Everything is fine, you can come back from this,” He repeats to himself under his breath, hoping that if he says it enough it will be true. While he's doing this, Hanschen slides into the kitchen with a tray of empty plates. He takes one look at Melchior and starts _cackling_. Melchior squeezes his eyes shut and groans “You _fell_ into his _lap_ ,” Hanschen manages to gasp out, “This is the _best thing_ I've ever witnessed, _ever_.”

“I can't go back out there,” Melchior says.

Hanschen wipes laugh tears from his eyes, “You _have_ to.”

“The only thing I have to do is curl up and _die_.”

“No, seriously,” Hanschen sobers up, “He didn't look upset about it. Shocked and confused, but also a bit charmed.”

“Really?”

Hanschen huffs and rolls his eyes. “Why would I lie about that?”

Melchior nods, more to himself than anything else, and heads out with the drink tray held on both hands.

 _I can do this_ , he thinks. Then he tries to turn around the counter too sharply, catches his hip and gets himself off balance. He doesn't fall, but he does flail a bit and the drink tray falls from his grasp with several, clattering, wet crashes. Melchior freezes, his face flushing in embarrassment as everyone's attention is drawn to him. He sees Otto, a hand over his mouth, his eyes squeezed shut, and his shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. Melchior flushes even more and runs back to the relative safety of the kitchen.

 **operation hot waiter failed, im changing my name and moving to germany** , Melchior texts to Moritz. Moritz responds with _**Hush**_ _ **, Ernst's livetweeting the whole thing and it's not that bad**_ _._ Melchior begins to send another text about how it is, in fact, _exactly_ as bad as Melchior thinks it is, and quite possibly worse if Ernst is sharing his humiliation with the internet, but Hanschen snatches away his phone. He's holding another drink tray, which he offer to Melchior.

“Come on.”

“I can't,” Melchior says, “I’m going to go live in the basement, never to be seen again.”

“You don't even _have_ a basement,” Hanschen huffs.

Melchior shrugs.

Hanschen takes a deep breath, balances the tray atop of his right hand, and grabs Melchior’s shoulder with the other. Melchior tries to resist, but the roller skates make it difficult to get enough friction.

“If you make me spill these drinks, they're going all over you,” Hanschen warns. Melchior, deciding that he's had enough humiliation for one day, stops struggling.

Hanschen pulls him all the way to the table and gently sets down the drink tray, still holding onto Melchior's collar like a disgruntled mother cat. The chatter at the table had stopped upon their approach. One of the girls rolls her eyes and elbows Otto in a way that Melchior thinks is supposed to be subtle.

“Sorry about him,” Hanschen says, his beaf customer service smile on, “He gets flustered when he's around such attractive people.”

“ _Hanschen_ ,” Melchior hisses, eyes bulged and mouth slack with shock. It was said as though it was a casual flirtation, but there's no way that it's not obvious who Melchior is “flustered” by. Hanschen, the asshole, ignores Melchior.

“He'll be taking your order,” Hanschen continues, “And while I can't promise anything, I'm sure he'll do his best to not spill anything else.”

Hanschen skates away to his other tables with a lazy wave, leaving Melchior on his own to deal with them.

“So, uh,” Melchior says, pulling out his notepad and holding onto it like a lifeline. One of Ernst’s friends, the boy with the glasses, is snickering into his water. Ernst has his phone out, clearly and unabashedly livetweeting Melchior’s distress. Otto is staring resolutely at his plate, his ears flushed. “What can I get you to eat?”

Melchior takes their orders with no other issues, but he can’t stop his eyes from drifting back to Otto. Melchior catches Otto’s eye once by accident and his entire face flames up, as does Otto’s. Melchior would probably feel bad about the embarrassment and possible teasing that he’s causing Otto, if the other boy wasn’t so _cute_. It happens a few more times--it honestly was _bound_ to happen with how Melchior ended up spending the majority of his time there outright staring at Otto--and by the time he gets back to the kitchen to put in the orders, he’s beyond flustered. He presses a hand to his ribcage and he fancies that he can feel his heart beating wildly against it.

* * *

Melchior manages to get everyone's dishes out without much difficulty, against all odds. He isn't exactly the picture of elegance and grace and he has to take multiple trips to carry everything out but it all gets on the table and he doesn't trip and/or die, so he counts it as a success. He surveys his work with pride as Ernst's friends speak quietly and appreciatively about the food. 

"Anything else?" He asks, mostly as a formality. Their cups are all full and they have food now, they shouldn't need anything else.

There are several looks exchanged. Otto's ears pinken again. Ernst rolls his eyes dramatically and pulls a pen out of his bag, handing it to one of the girls, a deeply tanned girl with bleach-blonde hair. She takes one of the extra napkins on the table and scribbles something on it, grinning wide enough to split her face, handing the pen and the napkin to the other girl, a tall black girl. The other girl adds to the scribbles before handing everything to glasses boy. Glasses boy squints at the napkin and nods approvingly. He hands the napkin to Otto and the pen back to Ernst. All four of them stare at Otto. Melchior stands awkwardly at the table, still waiting for an answer.

"Uh," He says. Ernst holds up a hand to stop him.

"Patience is a virtue."

Melchior huffs and quietly mutters, "I'm an atheist," but he doesn't try to speak again. 

Otto flushes more under the forceful stares of his friends, until he lifts his head and narrows his beautiful eyes at them.

"Seriously?" He says.

Blonde girl nods frantically. "We did all the work for you!"

"Not  _all_ the work," The black girl says, coyly. Otto glares at her. Melchior wishes that he wasn't wearing deathskates so that he could tap his foot on the ground. 

Glasses boy leans forward so that he can easily see Melchior, some of his hair hanging into his syrupy pancake. "Ernst's brother," He starts.

"Melchior," Melchior corrects. Glasses boy rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, whatever, I don't really care. Listen, point is, I've had to listen to Otto asking Ernst about you all break for the last week, and he's barely been able to get the balls to-" The boy winces, and by the looks on the black girl's face, Melchior would wager that she kicked him, "God, fine, I'm  _sorry_. He's barely been brave enough to talk to you at all, even though  _we've_ just about had our ears talked off this whole time."

"I'm- What?" Melchior asks. Otto's head is on the table now, unresponsive and brightly flushed. Melchior honestly isn't doing much better. "Why are you telling me this?"

" _Because_ we just wrote Otto's number down but he's being a baby and won't give it to you.," Blonde girl says, "You're into him too, right? Ernst said you were."

Otto and Melchior's heads both snap to Ernst, who's looking at blonde girl with wide, betrayed eyes.  _Well, that's relatable, you_ traitor _,_ Melchior thinks.

"You told them that?" Melchior asks, at the same time that Otto hisses, "Why didn't you  _tell me_."

Melchior blinks. He turns to Otto only to find that Otto's done the same. 

"You like me?" Melchior asks.

Otto flushes and puts out a hand, the one with the napkin in it. "My friends may lack finesse and have the subtlety of a herd of rhinos, but I think that I'd be interested in going out with you sometime." 

Melchior takes the napkin like it's a delicate artifact, blinking at it in shock. "Uh, I'd like that too. I'll call you?"

"It's 2017, you can text him," The black girl says. Otto frowns at her.

"Ignore her," He says, his face softening as he looks at Melchior. "You can call."

"Okay?" Melchior half-says, half-asks. "I'll be in touch, I guess?"

"You better be," The glasses boy and the blonde girl say in scary unison. Melchior nods sharply. 

He stands there for a second more, still shaken up and shocked at this turn of events, before retreating to the kitchen to put Otto's number in his phone. 

 **hi** , he messages. His phone pings almost immediately with a responding,  ** _hi_**.

Melchior feels an unstoppable grin spreading across his face. It seems that there are positives to working in the diner after all.

 

**Author's Note:**

> what did melchior do to piss ilse off? i have No Idea okay but its something involving wendla and its (obviously) not as bad as r*pe or like leaking her nudes or anything. he probably like stole wendlas phone and broke into it to look for nudes on a dare, which is TERRIBLE but he doesnt get any further than just stealing her phone when wendla catches him and beats him the fuck up, leading into the situation in the fic; wendla refuses to talk about it, and hes not gonna tell anyone, so he doesnt lose any friends or anything, but ilses found out and ilse is ready to Kill
> 
> regardless!!! kudos, bookmarks, and comments bring life into my empty husk of a body and thus are MUCH appreciated!
> 
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